


Normalcy

by shieldivarius



Series: Femslash Yuletide 2013 [7]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, Femslash Yuletide, Melancholy, Post-Bahrain, Pre-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Pre-Slash, Prompt: Gift Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shieldivarius/pseuds/shieldivarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha delivers a gift to Melinda in her new department.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Normalcy

**Author's Note:**

> Err. It's sort of related to the prompt, anyway. And there's tinsel!

The tiny box in Natasha’s hand had been harder to find than she’d been led to believe it would be. Not a complaint she would even dream of making to the intended recipient of the gift, but all the same, she thought it impressive that Melinda even knew of the existence of the thing.

It was hardly the first thing about Melinda May that had impressed her of late. That her favoured perfume could only be found sold from the woman who made it, a single-woman run shop in an Arabic speaking village in feuded over territory where bombs dropped in the proprietor’s backyard every other month, came of no surprise to Natasha. She was only glad now, that she’d been able to find it—and that she and Barton had been sent on an op to that part of the world at such an appropriate time of year.

Natasha felt a little stupid making her way down to the Administration levels where Melinda had taken a position when she’d returned to S.H.I.E.L.D. at the end of her leave, just two months before. She hadn’t seen the other agent since before the mission that took her out of the field, couldn’t even be sure that she would be welcome. 

They hadn’t had a ‘Welcome Back!’ party, or anything of the kind. That wasn’t how this business operated, and beyond that, Melinda hadn’t exactly come back anywhere. Natasha recognized fear and the actions it made spiral. Even without looking Melinda in the eye, without sitting down with her and learning from her what had happened in Bahrain, Natasha recognized fear.

Crippling, debilitating fear, to remove an agent of Melinda’s calibre—of Natasha’s own calibre—from the field. And Natasha had come along long after Melinda, too long after to know what she might owe S.H.I.E.L.D.—everyone, _everyone_ owed them something—but her prevailing loyalty to the agency, regardless, the loyalty that kept her there, if far removed from the action, impressed Natasha most of all.

Natasha bent to scan her I.D. badge at the entrance to the Administration department, submitting to the eye scanner when it prompted before the door would open for her. She shifted her little gift-wrapped box to her other hand, lest the sweat building in her palm ruin the wrapping.

Nerves. She may have been harbouring more apprehension toward how Melinda would receive her visit than she wanted to acknowledge. 

The Administration hallway bore small nods to the holiday season—a trailing garland chased through with silver and blue tinsel along the top of someone’s cubicle here, a little wreath below the clock there. All very tasteful, and minimal and inoffensive to the eye, while still being more festive than any other part of the campus, barring maybe private quarters.

Melinda’s desk wasn’t hard to find. The other cubicles looked lived in. Hers was bare, and she sat with hunched shoulders in front of her computer, only moving her eyes and index finger on the scrolling wheel of her mouse as she read.

Natasha cleared her throat and planned out the most elegant retreat for when this went sour.

A flicker of surprise passed through Melinda’s expression when she looked over. “Agent Romanoff,” she greeted in a detached voice. “This isn’t your usual haunt.”

Even if Natasha had been planning on asking Melinda how she was coping—a stupid question—she wouldn’t have been able to ask it of the pain staring at her. Pain that hadn’t been there the last time she’d seen Melinda May. Pain that shrieked something had gone horribly, irrevocably wrong, and no short length of leave—Melinda had been off for six weeks—was going to heal it.

“I wanted to give you this,” Natasha said and placed the box on the bare expanse of desk instead of forcing Melinda to accept it. 

It barely received a glance before Melinda went back to her computer screen and the black text on white pages scattered across it.

Natasha hesitated, and it was only that hesitation—uncharacteristic, for her—that had her spitting out her second reason for coming down. The perfume had been an excuse, whether it was accepted or not. “And to invite you for coffee. Or,” she added, because coffee sounded quaint and soft and ineffective before the pain in Melinda’s eyes. “The full bottle of Russian vodka in my freezer and walls that don’t spread rumours.”

That drew Melinda’s attention again, and it flicked from her face to the little box. One hand reached out and played with the ribbon, and Melinda gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“You know where to find me,” Natasha said, and left.

She’d selected Administration, because Melinda was looking for a new start. Natasha wouldn’t intrude on that again, but she suspected—hoped—that Melinda would come to her. Not for solace. Not for understanding. Not even for comfort, but maybe for something like normalcy.

Whatever that meant for them.

**Author's Note:**

> http://shieldivarius.tumblr.com


End file.
